


The Jack Thompson Story

by Paeonia



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Medical Procedures, Near Death Experiences, Nobody is Dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 08:01:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9225866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paeonia/pseuds/Paeonia
Summary: So Agent Carter got her Hollywood ending. Meanwhile, it looks like The Jack Thompson Story's going to end up as a short.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [keysburg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keysburg/gifts).



> This is @keysburg's fault. She made me do it.

_#that’s poor jack thompson’s problem isn’t it he’s in the wrong story  
#he didn’t sign up to be in peggy’s_

— @keysburg

* * *

 

Before Jack has time to react, the impact drives the wind out of him and hurls him to the floor. He’s too stunned to move at first, and the pain in his chest is deeper than pain, it’s getting heavier and heavier, it’s crushing him —

And then…. it gets better, it doesn’t feel like it’ll kill him if he takes a deep breath. He actually feels good, like he’s just woken up from a Grade A afternoon nap, he’s ready to grab his bags and get to the airport and —

Oh.

He’s looking down at his own body, lying on the floor. There’s a bright red stain on the front of his shirt — well, the shirt of the body on the floor — he looks down at himself and there’s a stain on his own shirt to match: it’s half hidden by his tie, but it’s still there. And it’s getting bigger.

He glances at the door. It’s closed. The body on the floor isn’t moving. And there’s a puddle of blood forming on the carpet.

It doesn’t occur to him to call for help.

“You’re in a bit of a pickle, aren’t you, son?”

It’s Chief Dooley. He’s standing at Jack’s elbow, looking at the body on the floor, and it seems like the most natural thing in the world that he’d be there. Jack starts feeling a whole lot better about the situation.

“Yeah, sure looks like it,” Jack replies. “So now what?”

“You don’t know, Chief?" asks Dooley.

Jack’s mouth tightens, but Dooley doesn’t look bothered. “It’s all right if you don’t know what to do. It’s only human, right? And between you and me? Sometimes you do better if you just come out and say you don’t know. Good people won’t hold it against you.”

He gestures to Jack, to the body on the floor, and then back to Jack. “You ever been in this kind of situation before?”

Jack chuckles a little. “No, can’t say I have.”

“Well, there you go. And there’s nothing in the ops manual about this, is there?”

“I don’t think so. At least, nothing about what I should be doing: I’m dead. Right?”

“Wrong. Dead wrong.” Dooley shakes his head. “Sorry, couldn’t resist. But no, you’re not dead.”

Jack looks at his body on the floor. “Looks like I’m workin’ on it, though.”

“Yeah, you’re not lookin’ too good there. What happened?”

Jack winces as he thinks back. “Someone was knocking on the door. I thought it was the maid, so I opened the door, and instead it’s a 1911.”

Dooley chuckles. “Talk about checkout time. Suppressor?”

“Yeah. Wait, do you —?”

“Do I know who got you? No; wasn’t part of my briefing. Besides, I’m not here to talk shop.”

“Oh. Are you here to take me…?”

“Just the opposite, actually. I’m here to make sure you don’t go anywhere.”

Jack looks pointedly at the still form on the floor. “Why? The show’s over. Nothing to do now but sweep up the popcorn.”

“You’re wrong about that. Your show’s not over.”

“No offense, Chief, but I meant in ‘the show’ in the sense of being alive, not of being… in whatever show we’re in now.”

“I knew what you meant. The show must go on, right? You’re in a show, I’m in a show… I’m just further along in my story than you are. This metaphor only stretches so far, you understand....” He looks up at Jack. “You all right there? ...Besides the obvious.”

Jack frowns. “Did you ever know a Vernon Masters in the War Department?”

“I knew _of_ him. Why?”

“Just thinking of something he said: Something about stories and how people love a good story and how you can add to your story.”

Dooley lifts an eyebrow. “Now why does he sound like the kind of guy who’ll tell you whatever story he thinks you want to hear?”

“That’s Vernon. He’s kind of the reason I’m here.”

Dooley looks at the body on the floor. “You mean there? You think he did that to you?”

“I don’t know.” A horrible idea comes to Jack. “We thought he was dead, but if you don’t know Vernon now, does that mean he’s still alive?”

“Not necessarily. Everything on this side’s need-to-know only.”

“Oh. Well... Vernon brought me out here to L.A.. He’s the reason I’m in the SSR at all; he and my dad go way back, and when I got back from the war he… made a few phone calls —”

“Wait,” snaps Dooley. “Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t care how many phone calls he says he made: you didn’t become an Agent because somebody told me to hire you.”

“Thanks, Chief.” That means a lot, he almost says. “It’s just… all this time I thought Vernon was helping me, showing me how to get ahead and do the right thing, but instead he was just using me for… well, that’s just it. He was using me. I wasn’t even in my own story, I was just a bit player in his.”

“No. You still have your own story, even if that guy didn’t respect it.” says Dooley.

“It’s not much of a story,” Jack says automatically. And even then, he thinks, when does he ever tell it without choosing words carefully, or holding something back?

Dooley just gives him a withering look. “You can quit with the false modesty. I hired you, remember? I’ve read your file, and I know you’ve added to it.”

His file. That file on Carter. The files he changed….

The file on Carter. He tries to step forward to check his suitcase, but Dooley stops him. “No. That’s not what we’re here for.”

“But —”

Dooley lifts his hand to halt him. “Not the time. Now: What’s really eatin’ you?” He’s got that shrewd, sifting look on his face that Jack knows so well, and that dry little smile —

— And now that he’s seeing it again, Jack realizes he’d lived for that little smile all those months at the New York SSR, and he understands why: it was always genuine. Not like Vernon’s; how many times over the years had Vernon smiled to lure him one way or the other, like a pet or a pawn? _Do this first and then I’ll be pleased with you._

No, Dooley’s little smile had meant _you said something funny_ or _you did good_ , it meant approval, and sometimes even a hint of a gruff… kindness. Something’s missing from Chief’s face now: the shadows once cast by fatigue and worry and frustration and anger are gone. And that wry kindness is easier to see than ever.

He can tell this to Chief, Chief won’t use this to hurt him.

“Vernon… well, like you said, I’m playing a bit part in other people’s stories, and the stuff he was getting me to do.... If they ever made a movie about Carter’s life, for example?” He looks up, embarrassed. “I’d be one of the bad guys.”

Dooley only looks sympathetic. “It happens,” he says. “Not many people can make it through life without ever hurting somebody somehow. And this guy was being a bad guy in your story —”

“I wish I’d seen it sooner. Maybe I just didn’t want to see it.”

“Maybe he was keeping you from seeing it. Bad guys have a way of doing that, you know. But once you knew what was going on, did you turn it around with Carter?”

“Yeah. I did. Came out even better than I thought it would.”

“Good. What about Sousa?”

“Was... that in the briefing?”

“Was that what I asked?”

“ ...I don’t know,” Jack admits. “He’s said straight out he doesn’t trust me, but we’ve been able to work together. And I did save his life twice, or helped to.”

“He holds on to things longer than Carter does. Be patient and don’t try to snow him. He’ll come around.”

Dooley gestures to the body on the floor. “You like movies? I like movies. Now, if I were reading this in a book, or watching this as a movie, this would be right around the part where the hero realizes that the person he thought was was a friend was actually an enemy, and the people he thought were enemies were actually friends and were helping him all along. They were getting in the way, but really they were getting in the way of his mistakes, buying him time. So even though things look bad, there’s plenty of time for a happy ending instead of a sad ending.

"Remember that: even if they’re driving you crazy, they’re on your side. They’re friends. And I’ll tell you a secret: you’ve got friends you don’t even know about. You’ll be amazed when you get to this side.”

“Like who?”

“You’ll know when it’s time.”

“Do you know… how long?”

“You mean, how long you’re going to live?” says Dooley. _Are you really asking me such a stupid question?_ says Dooley’s face.

“At this rate, it’s not going to be much longer. Shouldn’t I be going out to find somebody?”

“No, you need to stay here. Be patient. Time works differently on this side, anyway. See how that stain on your shirt’s not getting any bigger?”

Jack crouches down to look at his body, and then looks down at his own shirt. “Huh.” He stands up again. He has a sense that Dooley is going to leave soon, and that he should take advantage of the time, ask him things, but he can’t think of what he should ask him….

“These friends you said I have, that I don’t know about… are you one of those friends?”

“Technically, no. You know about me.”

“Are you my guardian angel?”

“Oh no. Angels are angels. People are people.”

“Ah. Well, can I do anything for you? Any… messages you want me to bring back? I wish I had some news for you about your family. I’m real sorry — we’ve been busy at the New York office, and it’s… been a while —”

“Don’t worry about it. I get regular updates.” Dooley smiles. “And messages? Are you kidding? You really want to come back announcing you’ve brought messages from a dead guy? Besides, you’re probably not going to remember any of this.”

“What?” Jack is just quick enough to keep his disappointment off his face.

“You’ll remember the important stuff, of course. Not word-for-word, but you’ll have the gist of it, and it’ll come to you when you need it.”

“So I won’t remember seeing you?”

“I don’t think so. I get to visit Loretta and the kids now and then when they’re asleep — don’t want to scare ‘em, of course — and even if they don’t know I was there, they remember whatever it was I was sent there to tell them. It’s like they know it without even knowing how they learned it. I’m guessing that’s how it’ll work for you. You’ll know what you need to know.”

Dooley looks toward the door. “You asked about your guardian angel? He’s running this operation, working another angle. I think we’re about to see some action here. Get ready.”

A knock sounds at the door. “Housekeeping!” calls a woman’s voice. “Hello? Hello, are you still there?”

There’s some bumping on the other side of the door. The key rattles in the lock and the door opens a crack.

“Housekeeping,” calls the woman again. She opens the door the rest of the way, steps into the room, sees the body lying on the floor, and screams.

She’s still shrieking as she picks her way around the body and hurries to the room phone. “It’s Minnie,” she sobs into the phone, “I’m in 208, the man — he’s lying on the floor, there’s blood on his chest and on the floor, I need help! ...I think so. There is? Yes, yes. Just hurry!” She hangs up, makes her way to the door, and calls out into the hall: “Help! Help, I need a doctor! Please, help!”

There is no answer. She comes over to the body on the ground, gets down next to it, and timidly touches the body’s forehead and face with the back of her hand, as if feeling for a fever. Back at the door, she pushes her cart and the vacuum cleaner out of the way and then wrings her hands as she looks back and forth from the hallway to the body on the floor.

She sees something out in the hallway and waves. “Here! Over here!” she cries. She steps back as two men rush in. Jack recognizes one of them from the desk downstairs, he’s some kind of manager.

The other one kneels next to the body and opens his black case. “You got scissors? Help me with his clothes!”

“Cops are coming,” the manager says to the maid. The doctor is already rolling the body onto its back. He undoes its necktie and starts ripping open its shirt.

“It’s a good thing you caught me! One more minute and I would’ve been out the door,” he says. The manager offers him a pocket knife; he takes it and uses it to rip the body’s A-shirt open.

“Oh my God,” mutters the doctor. There is a slick of blood on the body’s chest, Jack thinks he can just see the wound itself.

The doctor digs in his bag, pulls out a handful of bandages, piles them over the wound, and tapes the dressing. “Get some pillows!” he calls.

The manager brings the pillows from the bed and helps the doctor put them under the body’s head and shoulders. They roll the body on its left side and peel off the rest of its shirt and A-shirt. They are stained with blood as well. The doctor starts bandaging up something on the the body’s back.

“We’d better wrap up," says Dooley. "Remember: Your story’s not over, and you’ve got time to turn it around. And you’ve got friends. Don’t be afraid of them.” He extends his hand to Jack. “It’s been real nice seeing you again, Thompson.”

“Thanks, Chief.” Jack shakes Dooley’s hand. “Good to see you too. We miss you.”

He glances down at his shoes and makes himself look up. “Will I ever get to see you again?”

“Maybe. But I’d prefer less dire circumstances. So no more getting shot, you hear me?”

Jack smiles. “I’ll do my best.”

“Attaboy. And I may get to check in on you now and then, without your seeing me. Again.”

“Wait — you mean you’ve visited me before?”

Dooley looks past Jack and towards the body. The doctor has turned it onto its back again and is listening to its chest with his stethoscope. He seems to be paying special attention to the right side of its chest.

He puts the stethoscope aside and turns back to his bag. He brings out a bottle and some cotton, and cleans an area over the body’s ribs. Then he brings out a syringe.

Dooley winces. “Jeez, that’s a big needle! Better brace yourself.” He looks up at Jack. “Good luck to you, son.”

“Thanks, Chief.”

The doctor slides the needle in between two of the body’s ribs. A second later, Jack feels a sharp pain in his own right chest, it’s burning, it won’t let him speak, and as bad as it is, it’s nothing compared to the deep, deep pain that’s crushing him —

He gasps for air. Only then does he realize that he’s lying on the floor. There are two faces bending above him — no, three: the guy from the hotel, a total stranger whose face still feels faintly familiar, and Chief Dooley’s... wait, why is Chief here? He should be in New York… but that doesn’t seem right either...

Dooley catches his eye and gives him a little nod. Then he puts on his hat, gives it that little tug forward, and steps out of the way of the stranger.

“That’s better,” says the stranger. “I’m Dr. Meyer. We’re going to get you to the hospital, okay? Don’t try to talk. I’m going to give you a shot for the pain.”

The guy from the hotel gets a little closer. “Is there someone in town we can call?” He holds up Jack’s wallet. “I’m gonna look in here for a number.”

An old habit in Jack’s mind wants to say “No, don’t bother, I’m fine,” but he remembers that’s the wrong thing to do, he’s the Chief, someone here needs to know what’s happened to him, someone here would want to know what’s happened to him...

“The ambulance is here,” a woman calls out. “And the police.”

Police? Shouldn’t he be doing something? He’s starting to feel like he’s floating, floating in warm, calm waters...

The hotel guy pulls out a business card. “What about this? ‘Auerbach Theatrical Agency’ —" he holds it so Jack can see it — “Someone there we can call?”

His first thought is _oh hell no — danger —_ Vernon in the dark lab, in the lock-up — but then he thinks of triumph, of laughter over a corned beef sandwich, and his gut says _yes, there_. He nods weakly.

The hotel guy goes to make the call, and for a moment Jack wonders where Chief Dooley went, but then he’s distracted by the arrival of the ambulance crew. They lift him onto the stretcher, and by the time they’ve strapped him on and adjusted the head of the stretcher, he’s forgotten about Chief and he’s almost asleep. He can just hear the hotel guy making the phone call to the office.

Carter was going to stay on in L.A. for a while longer, wasn't she? Looks like he is, too… The look on her face when she finds out! And Sousa’s! He’d laugh if he knew it wouldn't hurt like a son-of-a-bitch….

It doesn't even occur to him that he might not see them. The stretcher starts to move and he lets himself close his eyes. He can squeeze in a nap before the next chapter starts.

 


End file.
